


Friend, You've Got To Fall

by gloss



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Blow Job, M/M, Post-Canon, Sheith69min, beach
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-17
Updated: 2019-03-17
Packaged: 2019-11-21 04:46:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,389
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18137510
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gloss/pseuds/gloss
Summary: Shiro needs rescuing. Again.At least they get some time alone together.





	Friend, You've Got To Fall

**Author's Note:**

> for this week's [Sheith69 Minute](https://twitter.com/sheith69min/status/1105809153380007937) challenge. title from [Husker Du](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=D3bvLdcfoDA).

"I'm getting too old for this," Keith muttered as he lowered himself down the cliff face. Below, the black waves roiled and crashed, sending up booms that echoed endlessly.

"I'll make it up to you," Shiro replied over the comm.

"Not you!"

Shiro's chuckle was low, difficult to make out amid all the chaos of surf and rock and Keith's own heavy breath, but Keith heard it and grinned back.

"You on your way to rescue someone else?" Shiro asked. "Should I be jealous?"

"Just this old guy," Keith said, checking over his shoulder. He estimated he had about another 400 meters to go before he'd hit the narrow beach. "Gets himself in impossible scrapes like it's his job."

"More like a calling," Shiro said. "So I surmise."

"Worst vocation in the world," Keith said. His hands were cramped and numb from grasping the damp rocks, and he'd slipped and smashed his knees, elbows, and feet enough times that everything throbbed, but each in its own rhythm, so the chorus of pain was discordant.

Rather than continue to creep the rest of the way down, which was both boring and painful, he sucked in a breath and pushed off from the cliff. A gust caught him up and he somersaulted once before landing on all fours on the beach. Water surged around him, nearly dragging him back out. Keith gulped and fought the nausea of impact. 

Shiro grabbed him by the back of his suit and hauled him forward and to his feet. He didn't release Keith, however, not without first shaking him good and hard.

"What was that?"

"Hi, honey," Keith said, fighting to smile despite his teeth chattering. "Made good time."

"Get in here." Shiro half-hugged, half-dragged him further up the black-sand beach to an overhang of rocks. Farther back in the cave, a fire was burning. The remnants of Shiro's exploratory craft were piled up at the entrance.

"You really crashed it good, huh?" Keith crouched in front of the pile, trying to see if anything had managed to survive intact.

Shiro stood above him, hands on his hips. "It's toast, yeah." When Keith glanced up over his shoulder at him, Shiro shrugged and scratched the back of his neck. "Hunk's gonna kill me."

"Yeah," Keith said. "He's not a happy Hunk, that's for sure."

"Well..." Shiro didn't finish that thought. He kicked Keith lightly in the lower back. "Let's eat?"

"You made _dinner_?" Keith stopped short, halfway into the cave. One of the emergency reflecto-blankets was spread out on the gritty sand, an improvised flame lantern set in the center. On either side, Shiro had set emergency rations.

"We'll be here overnight," Shiro said, as if that explained anything. When Keith scowled, he added, "The gales just get worse at night, you know that. You nearly ended up in the soup yourself and it's not even dark yet."

"Yeah, but —" Keith moved from foot to foot. On one hand, a night alone with Shiro would be perfect; it had been way too long since they'd had much more than minimum sleep and a couple minutes to talk. On the other hand, it was cold and damp in here and there was so much sand.

On the other other hand (Shiro's robo one, that is), there was Shiro, sitting at the makeshift picnic blanket and smiling a little shyly.

"What're we having?" Keith asked, dropping down and grabbing his tray. He was shovelling in the colorless mush before Shiro could answer.

"Pea-protein stew and what I think are supposed to be croquettes."

"What the hell're 'croquettes'?" Keith demanded, mouth full.

Shiro laughed. "Beats me."

"Eat up, then," Keith told him. He was ravenous, ready to eat Shiro's portion, too. He didn't say so, because Shiro would have passed it over without question. Keith didn't like encouraging that level of self-sacrifice.

"What's your hurry, squirt?"

Keith tossed his empty tray aside. He leaned forward, braced on one hand, and took his time really looking Shiro over. His cheek was abraded from the crash, rosy like the scar over his nose, and his white forelock glowed in the lantern's light. He gazed back at Keith, patiently, a small smile playing over his mouth.

"No hurry," Keith said finally, crawling forward. The blanket shifted and whispered as he moved. "Just want to get to the good part."

Shiro frowned. "There's no dessert, Keith, you know—." He stopped and bit his lip when Keith shook his head, just a little. "Oh."

"Yeah." Keith took the tray from Shiro's loose grasp and set it aside, then nudged Shiro's legs further apart, his torso leaning against the cave wall, and crawled up close. Hands on Shiro's shoulders, he said, "And don't call me squirt."

"Junior? Little man. Scrappy." Shiro worked through all of the insults Keith had heard his whole life. 

From his mouth, they were endearments. They probably tasted like Shiro himself, like honey and salt. Kissing Shiro, Keith tested that proposition and awarded himself an **A+** for insight and some extra marks for that getting Shiro to make that fluttery little grunt. That came when Keith pressed closer yet, dropping his hips and grinding down lightly.

"Keith—" Shiro's full arm came around Keith's shoulders; his other moved lower and his hand grabbed Keith's ass, increasing the speed and pressure of the grind. 

The objection on Shiro's part was mostly formulaic and performative. Keith, however, wasn't about to take any chances.

"You're not concussed," Keith told him, "Scans said so. You're all in one piece. So why _don't_ we make the most of a night alone?"

"True..."

"I mean," Keith continued, sucking up hard on the tendon at the junction of Shiro's neck and shoulder, " _I'm_ not the one who made a candelight dinner for two. We're on the same page here."

"Yeah," Shiro admitted in a long, gusty exhale that brought his hips canting up and his fingers stroking Keith's crack. "We are."

"Good."

When Keith sat back suddenly, Shiro blinked at him, confused and groggy, his mouth a little swollen from kissing. "But?"

"But nothing," Keith said, already undoing the fly of Shiro's flight suit. "Need to taste you, that's all."

Shiro started to chuckle, then gulped hard when Keith succeeded in drawing out his dick, stroking it the rest of the way hard, while also lowering himself to breathe down the shaft.

Shiro cupped Keith's cheek and whispered his name, and maybe Keith was (not so) secretly an enormous lameass goober, but that syllable, too, sounded like permission and confession and endearment all wrapped up in one. He wrapped his lips around the big flared head and pushed down, centimeter by centimeter, swallowing his spit and swirling his tongue, while Shiro looked down at him with something like wonder and surprise and affection.

His expression flashed to outright, dirty lust when Keith pulled up a little, then bounced his face shallowly up and down, up and down, until Shiro's cockhead was nudging his soft palate, then his throat.

"Hell, _Keith_ ," Shiro ground out through clenched teeth, his fingers closing in, twisting up, Keith's hair. "Please—"

He'd give Shiro anything. They both knew that.

The impact of his fall, the sound of the waves, his heart and cock throbbing, his spit running fast: it all cascaded together in a single instant. Keith kept fucking his face down, swallowing around Shiro's sweet girth, until he wasn't breathing or swallowing so much as _pulsing_. Shiro's cock throbbed inside him, shaping Keith around itself.

Keith pushed down, dragging his tongue, and tipped his head a little ways back, as far as he could, so when Shiro's ass came off the sand and he thrust and pumped and groaned Keith's name like a choral symphony, Keith took it all and swallowed. He leaned back farther when Shiro's dick popped out, and twitched, and Keith jacked it until Shiro was coming, panting, splattering Keith's face and bending over him to hold him and pat him awkwardly and wheeze out more endearments.

Keith saw swirling black spots for a while yet until he got enough oxygen. He wiped clean his face and straddled one of Shiro's thighs and threw his arms around Shiro's neck.

"Don't," he whispered, low enough for plausible deniability, "Ever go away."

Shiro held him tighter and breathed out into Keith's hair.


End file.
